October 23, 2060 - Durango, Colorado
“It’s historic!” said Greg, pointing to the television.
“What?” asked Billy.
“Today’s election polls have been released. The Green Party moved up 8% points overnight. That’s the single largest increase they’ve ever had. The reporters are attributing it to your speech. The Green Party is only a few percentage points behind the Democrats. Dodge is still running at 40%, but the Green Party is up to 29% and the Democrats fell to 31%.”
“I was glad to contribute,” Billy said humbly.
Greg stood up from the couch, “Don’t kid yourself; you talked about aliens. The Green Party is rocking this morning. The telephone rang all night.”
“I didn’t hear it. I slept like a baby.”
“I turned the ringer off. I had to get some sleep. We got calls from CNN, ABC, heck, all the major networks wants to send a team over here to talk to you. You came off as quite believable last night. You have to understand that for the last hundred years, people have been saying aliens kidnapped them. They say aliens were in a deserted town out in the boonies, or aliens did weird sexual experiments to them, and of course, nobody ever believed them because, well, they never had any proof. For some reason, and I can’t explain it, people believe you.”
Billy sat on the recliner and tipped it back by holding down the controller and raised his legs, “I give credit to the teacher for giving me the right words to say. Being up there last night was cool. I was nervous at first, but I could feel the teacher inside me, and after I spotted your orange shirt, I calmed down and said my piece.”
Greg turned the volume up on the monitor. The national election correspondents were discussing the upcoming election. The Green Party’s conventions, and Billy, in particular, were key discussion points.
D’Wayne Sturdivant was the host of the group and he was saying that the election was not a slam dunk for President Dodge.
“The President better not get too complacent. Callahan performed admirably. He’s nutty, fine, we can all agree on that, but he had a coolness about him that made the folks in the crowd want to run through a wall for him. Some may call it crazy; I call it inspirational and leadership. Bonsoi is either the smartest man in the country, or the luckiest, but either way, I don’t think we’ve heard the last of Callahan.”
Billy bounced up off the chair with a spryness of a younger man, “Greg, make those calls. We can save the world!”
A knock on the door interrupted them.
Greg peered out the window. “Jesus Christ.” Paparazzi covered every inch of the lawn. “What the hell!”
“This is perfect!” exclaimed Billy. ‘They’re coming here instead of making us drive to their offices. Let’em in!”
Greg wiped the sweat from his forehead. “I can’t have fifty members of the press in here. They’ll be taking pictures, snooping around where they don’t belong. I know you had a blast last night, but this is different. The media is a cold-hearted killer. Remember the blonde?”
Billy smiled at Greg, and before he began to talk, Greg interrupted.
“You’re not going to take no for an answer are you?
Groups of reporters, cameramen, videographers, and internet newshounds kept arriving at the house. Once word filtered out that Billy was willing to talk, the street was jammed with remote television news trucks clogged the small street. Neighbors called the police to ask for help with traffic control. It was a mob scene, and residents came out of their homes and confronted the not-so-patient reporters waiting for their crack at the “oldest man in the world”, as Billy had become in the recent hours.
The Green Party headquarters caught wind of the event happening in Greg’s house and were overjoyed. That same feeling failed to register at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue NW in Washington D.C.
President Dodge was in the middle of a budget meeting when a staffer whispered in his ear.
“Go ahead, turn it on,” said a disgusted President Dodge.
The staffer grabbed the remote control off the table and clicked on the National News Network. Every television in the White House was set to NNN, known better to viewers as 3N. 3N’s board of directors consisted of die- hard Republicans, determined to keep their party in the White House at all costs. Rumors circulated during the last election that 3N had manipulated exit interviews shown on their network. The FCC fined 3N twenty million dollars for projecting the winner of the presidential race two hours prior to the west coast polls official closing time.
Dodge held up his right hand as a sign for everyone in the room to stay silent. 3N was now inside Greg Miller’s house in Colorado and broadcasting live to the country. The reporter was John Blade, a young man sent from the local 3N affiliate in Denver to get his camera in Billy’s face.
“Tell me more about the teacher. You said he was your guide through your journey. What was his purpose?”
“The teacher wanted me to see the destruction of the planet as a warning for all of mankind.”
Someone in the White House shouted at the television, “Who is that idiot?”
A voice came from the back of the room. “That’s Callahan, sir.”
Chief of Staff Nick Demonde shouted, “Not that idiot! I know who the hell he is! Who is that clown asking dumb-ass questions? I’ll tell you what we need. We need to get that Callahan tucked away somewhere. A place where we can keep him out of the news until after the election. I can sense trouble, and trust me, this “oldest man in the world” made-for-TV-drama is exactly what we don’t need right now. The Green Party is going shoot right past the Democrats and be riding up our asses in two weeks if we don’t shut this guy up. I’m asking you Mr. President, are you willing to do that?”
Dodge snarled at his right hand man. “Clear the room. Nick, stay here. I want to talk to you alone.”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
The staff fled to the door. Half consumed coffee cups sat on the table. The cleaning crew entered the room unaware of the President’s request of privacy.
“Not now!” bellowed the President. The staff vanished in a blink. “Get Callahan. I want him kept on ice until after the election. Have I made myself clear?”
“Crystal clear, Mr. President.” Demonde made a few clicks on his computer pad and left the White House for the airport. He had a date with an old man in Durango.